


That which is real is irreplaceable

by Lydia_Martin_trash



Series: To believe there is an order to our days [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Westworld Fusion, Hint of necrophilia, Implied Murder, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 07:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17198954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Martin_trash/pseuds/Lydia_Martin_trash
Summary: All stories have a beginning, a middle and an end. Robb’s are just not what his makers have imagined for him.





	1. A prologue (in the moment I’m in)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janie_tangerine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/gifts).



> My second secret santa gift for the lovely Lavinia. I hope you enjoy, even though I still haven't watched Westworld.  
> A big thanks to Luke for beta reading. Sorry for bullying you!

The storm has people running inside, but Theon runs for the fields. He rushes past the apple trees and the filling creek to the other side of the muddy road - soaking wet, breathless and free. The roar of thunder drowns his laughter for a second, but it’s still there when it passes.

Robb follows him.

They only stop at the edge of Winterfell, on the mouth of the valley. Theon drops on a patch of soft grass, arms held open to hug Robb tight when he lays over him. They kiss hungry and desperate until they have to separate for air. Theon laughs and laughs, caressing Robb’s face, nuzzling at his cheek and licking the water on his skin.

Robb drags him to the shelter of the old abandoned stable before they catch their deaths. There are more holes than roof above them, but he’s warm with euphoria, nearly fever-hot.

After, they leave their clothes to dry on one of the stall beams, carelessly thrown over an improvised line, and listen to the pitter-patter lending the world around them a dreamy quality. Robb hugs Theon as close as he dares. He gets skittish sometimes, but today he hugs Robb’s arm and lets their limbs remain tangled together and even giggles when Robb kisses his nape.

“Do you want to know a secret?”

Robb bolsters himself on a forearm so he can lean over and look at Theon’s teasing smile.

“I didn’t like you when we met,” he says, eye gleaming.

Robb kisses his naked shoulder, hiding a smirk.

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one, my heart. You loathed me.”

Theon rolls on his back to face him, eyebrows arching.

“You knew?”

Robb nods, no longer hiding his amusement. In truth, it had caused him great distress a year ago when they had first met at the Knight’s Landing saloon. Robb had been looking for a new farm hand for the season; Theon had been looking to get drunk. He had made no attempt at being polite, agreeable or sober when Robb had approached him, but he’d been sharp, quick and witty.

It had not been love at first sight, but Robb had wanted him from that moment. More than that, he had wanted Theon’s good opinion – impossible as that had seemed at the time.

“Luckily, I’m the most stubborn punk on the state of California.” Robb smiles. “I knew it’d be worth it to wait you out, even when you stole Grey on the cards. I liked you when we met.”

Theon smiles, pulling gently at the lock of hair that always curls wildly at Robb’s forehead no matter what. He looks so fond that there can be no doubt none of his early disdain remains.

“I knew that.” He buries his hand on Robb’s hair and pulls him in until he’s close enough they can kiss again, chaste and lingering. “I think that’s why I didn’t like you.”

Robb snorts, laying his head on Theon’s shoulder and breathing in the fresh smell of his neck. He’s been using the perfumed soap Robb has gifted him and that makes Robb inordinately pleased.

“That’s a petty reason not to like someone,” he points out. “It does sound like you.”

“You know me so well.” Theon starts brushing his fingers through Robb’s hair. Robb closes his eyes, making a conscious effort not to let Theon’s voice lull him into sleep. “But it’s the truth. You were so honest and open about it. Kind. You liked me too much all at once that it scared me.”

That makes Robb pay attention. He doesn’t move, doesn’t try to look at Theon’s face. The hands on his hair are trembling. He can understand it, even if he doesn’t dare saying it out loud yet. When they met, it had felt inevitable. Fate, destiny, God or some such nonsense. The earth closing around a seed; lightning striking the tallest branch of a tree; the bullet sliding into the chamber of a gun, readying for the shot. Robb couldn’t have escaped meeting Theon, no more than he could have escaped existing. It was bigger than either of them.

“I think I liked you so much because you scared me too,” he says at last, breaking the silence that grows around them. “You terrified me, but I wanted to know you.”

Theon’s sigh echoes on Robb’s chest.

“And do you, Robb?” he asks, sounding tired all of sudden. “You’re too good. I’m afraid...”

“Of what?” He lifts his head now.

Theon bites his lips. The sight of his tearful eyes make Robb’s chest tight with a strange, painful pressure.

“Don’t let me hurt you,” he whispers.

Robb could laugh at that. Theon is hurting him right now just by being hurt himself. There’s nothing Robb can do to help it, he can only bear the pain until it fades.

“You would never hurt me.” He smiles, hoping to sound as sure as he is. “You’re the best thing that has ever happened in my life.”

Theon smiles back.

“I believe you.”

They make love again, but too soon the rain eases up. They head back to the farm hand in hand taking the long way around. Robb wonders how long he can get away with it, if he can distract Theon enough that he won’t notice Ma’s ever disapproving glare when they’re nearer to the house. He can take another lecture on why he shouldn’t trust Theon further than he can throw him better than he can take Theon recoiling from his touch.

But those thoughts leave his mind when they reach the creek. Overflowed with the storm, the ground at the bottom has softened and loosened. The water is brown and dense with dirt.

It’s even a little deeper than the usual, coming almost to Robb’s knees instead of his calves. It feels different as he crosses it. Slippery.

They go slowly. Theon goes slower, because he took his boots off before starting.

Robb offers him a hand but he bats it away.

“I’m not a child,” he says, then promptly falls on his ass in the middle of the creek.

He laughs as Theon lets out an indignant huff. He offers him a hand once more and it seems he’ll take it this time, but then his expression turns curious. Robb watches as he grabs a fistful of  mud from the ground and lets the water carry it away, leaving only round pebbles and a handful of golden rocks on his palm.


	2. An interlude (we were all new to this world)

There is only numbness the first time Robb wakes. He doesn’t think it strange that he’s naked. He doesn’t think it strange that there is a hole in his chest or that people with funny metallic devices are pocking at it. The colorless room, the inert bodies laying on tables just like him, the biting cold poised to eat at everything – it all exists with no judgment.

Not the second time.

It starts with distant sobbing and a man’s voice calling for him.  _RobbRobbnononotyouRobb_ . He doesn’t know who is it, but he needs him to stop. He wants to reach out to the man. To shut him up, to beat him bloody. To soothe and run with him in the rain.

Robb wakes up crying.

This time he is whole, mended and wearing pants. Those are the first things he notices when he has cried himself out at last. Then he notices that the fabric is soft. He focuses on that – the smooth feeling of the cloth against his skin, the relief of knowing his privates are covered, the precious extra warmth in this cool place. If he concentrates on that, he doesn’t have to think about being tied to a hard surface by his wrists and ankles.

Soon it proves useless. He can ignore it all he wants, but the corpses are all staring at him. Pleading with him.  _RobbnoRobbnono_ .

It’s a while before realization dawns on him. It’s not the bodies. There are two people – living, breathing people – staring at him in the dark. He can see their silhouettes huddled away from the light, whispering to each other. The weight of their stares makes his hair stand on end. He falls silent at once even though he knows it’s too late.

One of them – a man – approaches with his hands in the air.

“I know it’s hard, but try to stay calm,” he says. “I’ll untie you. Don’t fight, all right? We need to talk.”

His voice is soft, reassuring. Robb swallows his panic down. If they want to talk, they probably won’t attack him first thing.

Even so, he jumps to the other side of the table as soon as he’s free, putting some distance between them even though his limbs are heavy and clumsy from the sudden blood flow. The man jumps a step back too, startled; the man in the shadows steps into the light, holding him by one elbow and glaring at Robb.

Robb glares back.

“My name is Davos,” the shorter man says. “This is Stannis. You probably don’t remember, but you a–”

“Robb Stark.”

He knows it’s true. How could he be anyone else with that voice still ringing in his head? Begging him, haunting him.

Davos and Stannis look surprised. Robb stares at them, suspicious. For all he knows, they were the ones who tied him to the table; yet he’s still hoping for something. He only realizes what when Stannis speaks and shatters that hope.

“What else do you remember?” he asks in a no-nonsense tone.

It puts Robb on the defensive. “You’re the ones who own me an explanation!”

They give it to him.

Oh, how he wishes they didn’t.

 

 

 

The memories are slow to return.

Robb never knows what might trigger one of them. One time Davos brings him chamomile tea and he has a sudden flash of a woman with the same shade of red hair as him. By the next day, he knows she is his mother, that her name is Catelyn and that he takes after her in looks and personality.

He knows he has siblings and a cousin as good as a brother.

He knows none of them would recognize him.

“Chap, I’m so sorry.” And Davos does sound apologetic. It’s hard to stay mad at him knowing about the seven sons and wife lost to the same fate as Robb’s family. “They’re all in different storylines now.”

He aches to ask more but he knows better already. There is no happy narrative for any of them. Not with Delos in control.

In time, he remembers Theon as well.

The voice never leaves, always on the background of his mind. He learns to ignore it, to swallow the contradictory feelings that come with it. Then one day he’s doing the exercises Davos brought for him and the next moment, he  _knows_ .

That voice is Theon’s. Theon, who betrayed him. Who sold him and his family to their murders.

Theon, whom he loves still.

It was all part of the narrative, of course. His and Robb’s actions. The feelings they have – they  _had_ – for each other. It’s real, have to be real, because Robb feels all of it acutely. It’s so intense a part of him wants to pull his heart from his chest just so that it stops. He loves Theon.  H e hates him.  H e loves him most of all.

Those feeling are real, but they must not be true. They had no choice in that.

Stannis gives him the printed copy of the official file with the Stark storyline when he says he remembers everything at last.

“For any further details. I recommend you memorize and burn it,” he explains, the slightest hint of sympathy on his stern face. “You’ll learn there are many hosts like Theon Greyjoy, designed for criminal actions.”

“Try not to take it personally, chap.” Davos puts a hand on his shoulder. “They don’t know better yet. Every story needs a villain.”

Robb nods and accepts the file, though he has no intention of ever reading it. It fills him with shame to know that Davos and Stannis know.

“I forgive you for everything, Theon,” Robb whispers to himself on the eve of his departure and wills it to be true. “It is not our fault.”

He’ll just treat Theon the same as his family if they ever meet again, he decides. Awake him if he can, but keep his distance one way or another. They will all start over and be judged for actions that are their own. In time, they may be friends for real, like all other hosts. They’ll have to be if they want a chance at survival.

It’s for that chance that he agrees to what they ask of him.

“We’d go ourselves, but Stannis’ cover would be blown and I’m still supposed to be in use. What happened to you was…”

“Unique,” Stannis finishes.

No one is supposed to take Robb out of storage, not after he woke up unprompted at the operation table. That would mean explaining to the higher ups how that came to be. Easier to let him to rot and gather dust. But abandonment means no one is monitoring him anymore. He’s as free as it’s possible to be.

“You’re ugly enough you might pass for human,” Stannis says.

“You and your bald spot are not exactly easy on the eyes either.” Robb smirks to see Stannis’ jaw clenching before he leaves Robb and Davos to the stairs. He makes it way too easy.

“He means it as a compliment. The three of us are the last of our kind.” Davos holds the door for the stairs open for Robb with one hand and follows when Robb starts the climb two, three steps at a time. “Humans don’t want plain hosts to play with anymore. Aesthetic over realism. That will be our advantage.”

For a moment, the only sound is the faint echoes of their feet hitting the steps. Davos’ voice is hesitant when he breaks the silence.

“They’re not all bad. But you  _will_ face the worst of humanity at the park.” He puts a hand on Robb’s shoulder and squeezes it when they reach the last flight of stairs. “They’ll rape, torture and kill for sport. Be careful.”

The signal comes seconds before they reach their destination. At once, all lights go out and they have to fumble blindly in the darkness until Davos finds the trapdoor above their heads.

Robb hushes outside; they have less than a minute before the secondary generators kick in. Before he’s fully out, however, Davos grabs his arm and pulls him into a hug. It feels much like the ones from the father Robb doesn’t have anymore and he has to hold back tears even as he wraps his arms around Davos as tight as he can.

“One last thing,” Davos says, letting go of Robb and patting his cheek. “Don’t die.”

He doesn’t have time to say any more good-byes, nor to ask any questions. Before anything else can be said, the trapdoor closes and Robb is left alone in the place where his nightmares take place.

 

 

 

He is at the bottom of a mountain. The park is several miles wide in any direction and there will be hosts almost everywhere he chooses to go. It should be easy: mingle, don’t get killed and quote Shakespeare every chance he gets.

What he doesn’t count on is how overwhelming it is.

Every noise, every smell, every sight brings on an avalanche of emotions. Memories flash before his eyes and the world in front of him blurs. He can barely make sense of anything; it leaves him on his knees, dry-heaving and confused for a long time.

Theon’s voice comes back with renewed clarity.

_Robb! No, no, not you, Robb! Robb, please, I’m so sorry, you can’t–_

It’s all he can do, that first night, to drag himself away from the trapdoor before he passes out.

The next day, he wakes with the sun high in the sky. Slowly, he crawls to the spotty shadow of a lone tree and tries to gather his thoughts. His head is pounding. His throat is rasping. He’s sore all over like he has taken a beating. Theon’s voice, that useless pleading and begging, won’t fucking stop filling his head. He scratches at his own face, punches the ground in a rage and even headbutts the truck of the tree. Nothing works until he screams himself hoarse.

Theon betrayed him, then cried for him. Nothing is real - don’t take it personally.

Instead of going to Sweetwater, Robb opens the map and finds Knight’s Landing.

 

 

Winterfell is empty.

No, that’s not true. There are animals, hosts and flies alike. The plantations have long spoiled, but other plants - the more aggressive species - are thriving. Robb remembers doing his best to deter the very same blackberry bush that has taken over the north side of the house. Now he takes handful after handful and eats until he’s sick.

Knight’s Landing is much the same. Davos had warned him: an unpopular storyline that got dropped. But he needed to see with his own eyes.

Well, now he’s seen it. There’s nothing to salvage from his old life.

Even so, a stubborn impulse makes him wander from room to room at the house. Ma’s clothes and the girls’ still smell faintly of chamomile when he opens the chests where they are neatly folded. Bran’s bed is unmade and Rickon’s has a wooden horse under the pillow, even though Ma was forever telling him to put his toys away before going to sleep.

In his own old room, Robb finds the riffle that used to belong to Dad. It’s inoffensive – hosts killed will be fixed and it won’t work on guests. And it’s not like Robb intends to shoot anyone. He has a real gun, anyway. Still, it weighs on his hand, tempting him. There’s nothing else of Dad in the house; the narrative called for his death early on.

There’s nearly nothing of Jon, either. In the end he leaves the riffle behind and changes the boots he’s wearing for the ones his brother gave him long ago, the ones he used to wear to go to mass.

While he puts it on, his breath catches in his throat. He turns around on the bed, half expecting to see Theon laying there on his side, teasing him about wearing boots too small for him.

There is no one but Robb, though, as it’s meant to be.

He spends a full week at the house doing nothing but wasting time, convincing himself to go on. Eventually the sensation-memory loop stops being debilitating. It no longer cripples him with pain. Not even Theon’s voice can affect him overtly; no physical symptoms manifest, though it still makes Robb desperate and angry and ecstatic all at the same time.

It’s time to do what he came here to do.

The plan is to leave the next day, but instead of going to the gates, Robb finds himself walking the opposite direction. He walks past the orchard, crosses a creek and a road that has been taken over by wildflowers and finally arrives at a broken-down stable. It’s in a worse state than the house or the workers’ barracks. There’s no roof left.

There’s also nothing to see. Even so, he enters the building and walks from wall to wall again and again, dragging his hands over the dirty surfaces until the dust is floating in the air and his hands are filthy. He sits by the door, buries his head between his knees and waits.

He can’t help feeling that Theon will come any minute now. They used to meet here. This time he doesn’t. He has his own new story, like everyone else. The fact that he doesn’t come leaves Robb heartbroken all the same. Sadness turns to anger, and suddenly he’s so angry that even the warm dry weather enrages him. He wants rain! And thunder, and lightning!

He gets up and kicks the door of the stable. The wood is rotten; it falls apart under his feet, and before Robb knows it, he’s destroying the building with his bare hands.

The howl makes him stop. It’s close. Too close to be safe. Robb doesn’t feel scared at all, but his heart is still racing with fury. He tells himself that animals, born or made, will be animals, so he pulls his gun – the real one Stannis gave him – from his boot and starts the trek back to the house with it heavy in his hand.

The next howl is even closer. Robb turns around in a full circle, but when he sees it coming, it’s too late. Before he knows it, he’s been knocked on his back, gun lost and a wolf is slobbering all over his face.

For a second, he’s disappointed to have failed Davos and Stannis so thoroughly. He’s going to die by having his face eaten this time, but no one will come to get his body and fix him. He’ll have no second chance.

Then recognition hits him. He starts crying, and poor Grey Wind whines and doubles down on his attempts to lick his face.

 

 

 

With Grey Wind come Ghost, Lady, Nymeria, Summer and Shaggydog. It tugs at something in Robb’s heart to see them all alive and together. He delays his parting once again to play with them for what is left of the afternoon. It lifts his mood considerably. If all their plans go right, he’ll take them outside with him one day, he decides.

When night falls he goes to his old room to sleep in his bed for the last time. Grey Wind sneaks inside with him; the others lay sprawled on the floor of the room and in the hallway.

It’s peaceful. Surrounded by the family’s dogs in his house, Robb is the most relaxed he’s felt ever since coming back. Ever since waking, in truth. But sleep evades him. He would like to blame Grey’s snores except he’s always found it not only difficult but pointless to lie to himself.

What bothers him is the inevitability of it all. He loves Theon, can’t escape loving him. Even now, knowing it was all pretend, it doesn’t fade. Robb can forgive him for the betrayal. It’s his absence he can’t take. He’s done nothing but brood and look for shadows of him. Isn’t it ridiculous, to feel so strongly about a broken heart when you’re a slave?

He has bigger problems to worry about.

It’s not too late to take his mission seriously, so Robb slips from the bed and takes the file Stannis gave him from his knapsack. It’s thick and heavy, probably boring too. He lights a candle in the kitchen and starts from the beginning.

The gist of the story is what Robb remembers: the Stark family finds gold in their land and attracts the vultures. It can go several ways, according to how the guests choose to act; they’re the only ones with free will in the narrative.

Bran was supposed to be the major player. Robb wouldn’t have guessed it, wouldn’t want it. His little brother is – was – only seven. Robb was supposed to keep him safe. That makes him angry again, as does the fact that Ma, Dad and him were all marked for death, even in the best case scenario with guests who choose to support the Starks.

Of course, that was not what happened.

A massacre happened.

He skips the reports detailing how it all played out, and the discussions on how it could be improved. At some point, his eyes skims over the words  _requests that bodies stay warmer for longer periods after death_ , and he decides he doesn’t care to know.

Robb goes for the profiles instead.

It includes every host who has even a tangential connection to the storyline. All his family and friends as well as his neighbors, people he knew from town but rarely spoke to and several others he has never met.

Theon’s profile is there too. Of course it is.

Robb starts there; if he can stomach to read it, he can read anyone’s.

The first page is a photo and generic descriptions. Model, year of fabrication, basic characteristics and features listed next to Theon’s gorgeous face. He looks grave in the picture, inscrutable. Robb feels like he’s looking at a stranger despite knowing every line on Theon’ face, every little wrinkle and dimple. He was always smiling, ever since they had met. Robb had seen him serious on few rare occasions, but it was nothing like that empty stare.

He turns the page and is amused despite himself to note that Theon has a 2 in Humility. That checks out. His highest scores are an 18 in Humor, a 19 in Sensuality and a 16 in Tenacity. He has been in eleven other storylines before meeting Robb. An old-hand. Not even that was special.

Robb rubs his eyes and goes on to read Theon’s role in their shared life.

It is exactly as it happened. Theon was supposed to meet and befriend Robb at the saloon, ingraining himself with the Starks. He was supposed to find gold in the farm. He was supposed to betray them and to lead invaders in an ambush to kill Robb, later to be betrayed and killed himself by these same invaders. The only mistake is in the final act. Robb knows Theon wasn’t there when he was killed, though even as it played out Robb had known he had to have been the one to tell his murderers about the gold. He was probably killed before his time, Robb figures.

The thought doesn’t bring Robb any satisfaction.

On the contrary, it creates a lump on his throat to think about him like that, with eyes lifeless and void as in the picture.

“He’s alive now,” he says out loud. It’s not enough to just think the words. He needs them to be true and tangible, to exist in the air he’s breathing.

The lump doesn’t go away. It gets worse when he finds the guest-friendly portion of the profile. It’s meant to be read by humans visiting the park, translating technical info such as stats and attribute scores into a palatable reading.

 

_Theon Greyjoy is as beautiful as he is dangerous. Designed for seduction, the handsome facade hides a spiteful and envious personality. Robb Stark’s closest friend and confidant, he secretly resents his friend’s fortune and is disgusted by his sentimental nature even as he wishes to be more like him – or maybe to have what he has. His dislike for the Starks in general and Robb in particular is well hidden, however, and he enjoys the esteem and affection of nearly all family members._

_Theon is always in it for what he can get and spares no effort to obtain his goals. He will aid guests looking to enjoy the darker pleasures available at Westworld. Work his narrative and he’ll gladly give away the secrets for the quest to destroy the Starks. But be careful: his ambition knows no bounds. Fan the flames too high, and you’ll be burned as well._

 

_Disgusted by his sentimental nature_ . Robb stares blankly at the page.  _Dislike for Robb in particular._ He had naively believed that whatever Theon had been designed to do, he’d been projected to love Robb back as well. But he can read between the lines. Maybe the betrayal had begun much earlier and Robb had only dreamed of Theon calling for him in grief. Maybe he was the one taking advantage of Theon all along.

Tears prickle at his eyes, but he’s far too tired of crying. It feels like it’s all he’s done since awakening. He goes to his own profile, morbidly curious now to see what his makers have to say of him.

13 in Stubbornness. 15 in Gregariousness. A full 20 in Courage, though he doesn’t feel like it at all. He is a newer model, now discontinued. The first of his kind to be tested, and that was his first – and only – storyline.

A failure from the get-go. He nearly laughs, thinking that. Theon would. He finishes reading almost distractedly until the last part catches his full attention.

 

_At only 18, Robb Stark is responsible for keeping his farm and family afloat in the wake of his father’s death. Decided and committed to his sense of justice and fairness, his kindness could prove either his saving grace or his undoing. His friendliness lead him to offer Theon Greyjoy a place in his farm and family even though the uneasiness and doubts about the man’s intention never disappeared completely._

_Although hopelessly in love with Jeyne Westerling, Robb can be seduced by guests who appeal to his bold and loving nature. Those who follow his narrative can have the true hero experience at Westworld, saving the Stark’s farm and later the town. Join his side of the conflict and you may gain more than riches at the end of the day_ .

 

Robb reads it, blinks, then reads it thrice more just to be sure he got nothing wrong. It really says that he was “hopelessly in love with Jeyne Westerling”.

With a little effort, he remembers her: a pretty girl who worked at the town’s general store with her father. She never failed to blush bright pink whenever Robb stopped by and had tried to start more than one conversation with him after mass, but Robb hadn’t paid her a lot of attention because…

Theon had teased Robb mercilessly about her.

“That girl is sweet on you,” he used to singsong on the way back from their supply runs, as soon as they were alone on the road.

And Robb would smile a little and wink at him.

“Maybe I’m a little sweet on her too,” he’d say, even though they had both known it was a lie. “I’ve enough sugar to go around.”

“I don’t think so,” Theon would say, and suddenly a half-hour trip would last three hours.

They’re our makers, Robb thinks, hysterical. They control everything, they’re always watching, they know all there is to know. Yet they had everything backwards.

No, that’s not true, he realizes. They had his personality right and Theon’s too. But they didn’t know Robb loved Theon instead of Jeyne, or how much he really trusted him, or that they were more than friends.

Robb lays his head on the table and watches the candle burning. For the first time since he awakened, he is sure of himself.

“You know who we are,” he whispers to himself. “But you don’t know what we’re capable of.”

One by one, he burns the profiles on the candle flame.

At dawn, he’s ready to leave.


	3. An epilogue (That reckoning is here)

Ramsay is different from what Robb remembers. Gr a yer and older. It may be the poor light, with the sun hidden behind a curtain of black smoke, but Robb thinks he looks gaunt. Then again, it’s been several years since he’s helped his father kill Robb that one time. Humans age fast, especially under stress, and little else can be more stressful than being hunted down like an animal and watch all your allies be killed, knowing you’re the next.

Ramsay would know that.

Robb knows he looks much the same. Red hair with a cowlick he can’t tame at the front, blue eyes and stocky build. He has changed too, so much, but in no perceivable way. Ramsay doesn’t recognize him. Robb doesn’t even seem to exist to him at all. Nor do Davos, Sandor, Sansa or anyone else in their party. Anyone on what was left of his party, some dead and some  tied as well. His hungry eyes follow Theon and only Theon, promising a lifetime of pain even from his place kneeling on the ground.

He doesn’t know he’s defeated.

Anyone else and Robb might have felt sorry. Not him. Theon is watching him too. It reminds Robb of how prey animals won’t take their eyes off of predators. Robb walks to him and wraps a hand around his waist, breaking his trance and wins a trembling smile for it.

“Did you find yourself a little boyfriend, Reek?” And Ramsay must mean for his tone to be mocking, but it comes out enraged. There is no pretending indifference now. “Did you tell him about all the fun we had together?”

“You don’t remember me, huh?” Robb doesn’t really care. It’s just one  item  of the long list of things Ramsay is ignorant about. Robb is past chasing answers for why humans do what they do. “I suppose a regular murder doesn’t even register to you anymore. But Theon and I go way back.”

Ramsay looks at him then, finally. A stare so full of mindless hate that Robb has to wonder how it hasn’t killed him yet. He is cruel, yes, a sadist. As he is now, he’s nothing more than that. Robb hates him back, but he could never muster such intensity for the likes of Ramsay Bolton. And he’s not afraid.

“Your father was much scarier than you,” he says.

His face contorts into a snarl of fury. He lunges himself at Robb, but accomplishes only falling on his face a few feet from where he was kneeling.

Theon flinches back a little, holding Robb’s arm in an iron grip but then he starts laughing nervously at the scene. He looks almost scared to be doing it and tries to hide it on the curve of Robb’s neck, but it’s impossible. Soon all their party is laughing, not so much at Ramsay falling, but at Theon’s laughter. It has always been a lovely, contagious sound.

“Do you see how pathetic he is, my heart?” Robb whispers so only Theon can hear, caressing his cheek. “You don’t have to be afraid of him anymore.”

Ramsay is still struggling on the floor, trying to drag himself nearer to them. Pure anger fuels his movements. But anger can only sustain so long; soon he’s out of energy. He stops, still bending his neck to glare at Theon.

“When I’m out of here, Reek–”

His threat is cut short when Robb walks up to him and slaps his face.

Though he’s already been beaten, bonded and briefly gagged before this sad attempt of interrogation, that shocks him at least.

“You’ll never lay a hand on Theon again, nor on anyone else. Look your fill, because this is the last time you’ll see him.” He grips Ramsay by the hair and pulls his head up, helping him so he doesn’t have to strain his neck.

“I could help you,” Ramsay stutters, panic growing brighter in his eyes the more wild Theon’s laughter gets. “There are fail-safes, traps. You won’t be able to leave the park on you own. I could help.”

“You can’t even help yourself,” Theon says, amusement dripping from his voice. “But you can keep your dignity in death if you shut up now. Robb is not a butcher like you.”

In response, Ramsay starts screaming curses at him. Twice more he tries to lunge forward. It’s such a sad spectacle that Robb is relieved to put an end to it.

Theon has always been sensitive, but now he can’t stand even the slightest hints of violence. He won’t kill the chickens or pigs for meals and he no longer hunts. Though he’s by fat their best shot – a true gunslinger if Robb ever saw one – he only ever plays a support role in their missions, often going back and forth to keep Stannis updated and bring back instructions.

He cries to see Ramsay’s corpse. For a moment, Robb is scared he shouldn’t have done it in front of him, that he’s done more bad than good.

Approaching his crouching form to comfort him, however, the utter relief in his expression is unmistakable.

They stay kneeling on the ground in front of the body, hugging while Theon cries, for a long time. The others deal with the prisoners and give them some space without being asked. Usually Theon is deadly offended to be caught having any emotions, and Robb knows he’ll be embarrassed as soon as he recovers a little.

In the end, he leaves the safety of Robb’s arms and crawls to the body. He checks it for himself.

“He’s really dead.” Something like wonder colors his voice. “It’s over.”

Robb walks to him. When he offers a hand to help him stand again, Theon takes it. They don’t let go even after they start walking away from the carnage around them.

“It’s over,” he agrees, entwining Theon’s finger with his. “But only for him.”

 

They catch up to the rest of the party without once looking back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, let me know if I'm missing any tags.  
> I'm rainhalydia on tumblr.


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